One More Miracle
by bananas-are-good-9
Summary: Sherlock pushed his way into the hospital room, causing the figure to startle slightly. He stepped to a few feet from the bed and breathed in to address the figure on the bed. And froze. John.
1. Prologue

_A/N - So I originally posted this on AO3 and I'm going to be cleaning it up and posting it here as well. The rating for this story will be because I am simply paranoid..._

_Warnings: Omega-verse, Mpreg, and major character death. If these aren't your cup of tea...feel free to leave (I'm saying so in the nicest way possible :D)_

_Disclaimer: I own nothing...*cries*_

* * *

Sherlock stood in front of the nurse's station, irritation rolling off of him in waves. Any omega that passed by him quickly hurried away, and even the occasional beta was unnerved from the pheromones he was giving off. He was glaring at the phone that the head nurse, an annoying beta, was speaking into, calling god knows who to make sure he was allowed to see his new client. Mycroft had been the one to set this up, surely he would have already called ahead. Perhaps he had been too distracted by the biscuits he had been eating to do so, Sherlock mused with a smirk.

His musings were stopped when the head nurse turned towards him, phone still held to her ear. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. My apologies for disturbing you." She finished before she replaced the phone on the receiver. "Thank you for your patience, Mr. Holmes. You must understand we couldn't let an alpha into an un-bonded omega's room without-"

"Yes, I am aware. Although I was told he was bonded."

The nurse hummed in affirmation. "He was. His mate passed away some time ago. Very sad." She said, not sounding it in the least. "His room is the last on the left down that hallway there." Sherlock nodded as he gave the nurse one last glance.

"You should just leave him. Your affair has become quite troublesome for those around you." He said quickly before turning down the necessary corridor, leaving a red, sputtering nurse behind him.

Sherlock was buzzing with excitement as he approached his client's door. It took only a few fast strides for him to reach the plain door. Through the small window, he could see the silhouette of a figure lying on its side on the bed in the middle of the room, it seemed as though he was curled around something. Even though the lights were off, Sherlock could still make out a faint bond bite creeping out from under the hospital gown.

Sherlock pushed his way into the hospital room, causing the figure to startle slightly. He stepped to a few feet from the bed and breathed in to address the figure on the bed.

And froze.

The scent that was assaulting his senses was one he hadn't encountered in many years. It was so different, seemingly weaker and shrouded by chemicals, but it was also so wonderfully the same. Sherlock tried to say something, anything, but found them getting stuck in his throat, his lips unable to form around the syllables.

He watched as the figure on the bed breathed in deeply and hummed quietly before he spoke, his words coming out as a sigh. "Sherlock." His voice, like his scent, was hauntingly familiar even though it sounded so tired and weak. Sherlock sucked in a sharp breath, his voice shaking despite himself.

"John." Sherlock was finally able to make his legs work and he hurried around the bed to the side John was facing. His eyes darted over the other man's face, taking in the differences that six years apart had caused, avoiding taking in John's bald head. The other man had lost a considerable amount of weight and looked as though he hadn't had a good night's sleep in months.

Easily 5 stone. Been in this room for a year, sick for 16 months. Doesn't have many visitors, although Harry does come to visit him every now and again, when she's sober enough to remember where he is. Sherlock's mind supplied without his permission. There was something else…

John spoke before Sherlock could figure it out. "I'm sure you've never expected to find yourself here." He joked weakly.

In this room in particular? In the omega wing of the cancer ward of some hospital in the middle of nowhere? Sherlock figured the latter. His mind reeled as he tried to figure out what had set them on this course.

* * *

"Sherlock, I-"

* * *

_Nope, not there._

* * *

...

* * *

"Oh god, Sherlock! That better not be toxic!" John coughed, waving at the dust in his face.

"Of course not." Sherlock replied smoothly.

* * *

_Oh, it apparently was. It wasn't that either. Further back…. Right around…there._

* * *

_I'm probably going to be posting these all at once sooo...stick around if you liked it!_


	2. Six Years and Six Months

_A/N - Sorry about not posting more yesterday... my internet decided to rebel._

_Also, I really dulled this chapter down from the one on AO3 because of the rules and guidelines of this site (psh...that I sooo read...) and I don't really want to chance it. If you wanna read the unedited version, the link to my AO3 page is in my bio._

* * *

**SIX AND A HALF YEARS PREVIOUS**

Looking back, neither of them was sure who moved first. John always said it was Sherlock, who said it was irrelevant and turned over on the couch. They both agreed that it was one hell of a week.

* * *

**MONDAY**

Sherlock had been back for six months when things started changing. Little things, heated glances, chests bumping as they passed in the kitchen, leaning in close at crime scenes. The little things that Sherlock used to despise the alpha in him wanting to do these things. And John used to fight the omega in him for wanting to lean into the gestures. Used to being the key phrase.

* * *

**TUESDAY**

John slowly walked up the stairs to 221b, feeling his fatigue all the way to his bones. He had just finished a late shift at the clinic and had had his fill of summer colds and sprained ankles. He groaned and rolled his shoulders as he opened the door to the flat, wanting nothing more than to fall into his chair with a nice cuppa.

He would be getting no such thing.

John didn't get much further than the doorway, frozen from the image Sherlock has presented him with. The git was asleep on the sofa in his dressing gown, which he often did when he did allow himself to sleep. But instead of being curled on his side, Sherlock seemed to have exploded on the couch. His left leg was draped over the back of the couch, its twin was hanging so far off of the seat his foot nearly touched the floor. His left arm was tucked against his body and the back of the couch. His right arm rested across his chest in such a way his hand was resting over his heart.

That wouldn't have bothered John so much, if Sherlock hadn't fallen asleep only in the dressing down. Not that John noticed right away, no not at all. John couldn't stop his eyes as they feasted on the sleeping figure in front of them.

Sherlock's arm, the one trapped by the sofa, had pulled his, already very loose, dressing gown open further across his chest, exposing pale skin and part of a dusky pink nipple. John's eyes trailed further and his mouth going dry when he saw how far Sherlock's dressing gown had been opened by his legs.

John nearly groaned when he realized a certain part of his anatomy wasn't as tired as the rest of his body was. He did however when Sherlock shifted in his sleep, causing his dressing gown to crawl down his left thigh.

John made a hasty escape, well the best he could in his…condition, up the stairs and into his room, missing the smirk on his "sleeping" flat mate's face.

* * *

**WEDNESDAY**

After his plan had worked perfectly, quite possibly better than perfectly if the noises coming from John's room were any indication, Sherlock had formed a plan for the following morning. John's attraction to him hadn't really been hard to deduce. Dilated pupils, quick to complement (although he had always done that), not pulling away when their knees (and other various body parts) touched in cabs, on the sofa, the list went on and on. John seemed to need a push in the right direction, given his heterosexual way of life.

Sherlock looked up as the water shut off and smirked as he got up from his chair. Him "accidentally" walking in on John while he was fresh from the shower should be-

Sherlock was unprepared for the image in front of him.

John was standing in nothing but a towel that hung loosely on his waist and Sherlock's eyes practically devoured the new skin exposed to them. Sherlock had seen John shirtless a number of times. It just happened in their line of work, injuries that needed tending to and such, but this was something different.

John's already tanned body seemed positively golden and his cheeks were slightly flushed from the shower. He hadn't had a chance to dry his hair just yet and it stuck to his head, apart from a few spots where the hair had rebelled, and the short sandy locks were causing tiny streams of water to flow down his, still quite toned (but not dramatically so) despite not being in the army for some time now, chest and abdomen to collect in a small trail of blonde hair that disappeared under the towel. Sherlock nearly trembled with the need to follow their paths with his tongue.

"Jesus, Sherlock! Do you mind?" John cried, clutching his towel closer to his waist. Sherlock tore his gaze from the aforementioned article, his brain hardly functioning at its normal capacity.

Sherlock hardly managed a "Guh" in apology before spinning around, running into the doorframe, and stumbling from the loo.

* * *

**THURSDAY 23:48**

"Sherlock! What the _hell_ is this?" John asked, staring at the jam jar in his hand. He had just finished another late shift and he needed a nice cuppa to keep the headache that was forming at bay.

Sherlock hardly looked up from his, well John's, laptop. "I assume you're talking about-"

"The jar of cockroaches in the cabinet, yes."

"Experiment."

"What is that?" John was unsure to inspect the jar closer or chuck it at Sherlock's head.

"A capuchin monkey skull."

"And why is that?"

"Apparently taking a human head for an experiment is 'inhuman and wrong'." Sherlock rolled his eyes, forming air quotes around the last words.

John between the jar and Sherlock several times before he placed the jar on the counter. "Why was it in with the tea?" he asked, closing the cabinet, any want of a cuppa gone.

"Perfect place. Dry and dark." He explained as if it was the simplest thing in the world.

"Sherlock, you can't just so that. It's unsanitary." John sighed, falling into his chair.

"John, what if the results from that experiment could save someone's life in the future."

"Yeah, well, it's probably going to kill one of us before then." John sighed again and ran his hands over his face. "I'm far too tired to deal with this right now."

Both of them were silent for a moment and John was dangerously close to nodding off when Sherlock spoke again. "It would have been easier if I hadn't come back."

"What?" John's head snapped up and he saw pale eyes watching him closely

"It would have been far easier for you if I hadn't returned." Sherlock was now sitting cross legged on the couch in his dressing gown, thankfully with trousers on, the laptop on the cushion next to him. Sherlock began counting the reasons on his fingers. "You would've married that beta woman-"

"Mary."

"Which I can't begin to fathom why, you wouldn't have been able to give her children."

"She wasn't able to give them anyway, Sherlock." John interrupted, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Sherlock waved his hand in a dismissive motion, and continued as if he hadn't been interrupted. "You wouldn't have to deal with decomposing body parts in the fridge, and you probably would've had your own practice in a few short years. Rather boring."

"Stop it."

"If I had stayed dead, you wouldn't have to deal with all of this." Sherlock pressed, ignoring John's quiet protest. "Just think of how ha-"

"Sherlock, _shut it_." John whispered again, though he might as well have shouted, the anger in his voice stopping Sherlock midsentence. John would one day relish in the fact that he made Sherlock Holmes speechless, but today was not that day. John pushed out of his chair, too agitated to keep still, and began pacing stiffly behind his chair. "Two years." He spat bitterly, aware his face was flushed with anger. Sherlock noticed as well and decided it was better to stay quiet for now, lest they repeat the events from six months earlier.

"I thought you were dead for two years. Not once was I as happy as I was when I was with you. I've seen some crazy shit, Sherlock. I've been elbow deep in some kid I was laughing with just a few hours earlier. I could be talking to a friend and suddenly he would be bleeding out on the floor. But at least I could do something, anything to help. Watching you fall was by far the worst thing I have ever had to go through. I was completely helpless. So you don't get to say that I would be better off thinking that you were still dead. You have no right."

"Make me."

John stopped mid turn. "What?" he spun around to find Sherlock had gotten up from the couch and was standing a few feet away from him.

"You don't like what I'm saying? So what. You're a man of action so do something. Make. Me. Stop." Sherlock punctuated those last words by stepping closer to John, stopping when their chests were a few inches apart.

John surged forward, his hands reaching up to pull Sherlock's head down, his fingers tangling in the dark drew Sherlock's surprisingly full bottom into his mouth and nipping at it before he slanted his mouth across the taller man's. John licked across the seam of Sherlock's mouth, moaning softly as the kiss was deepened.

Sherlock hadn't remained stationary during the kiss. His hands were touching, wandering, and caressing any part of John he could reach. John was trembling from under his ministrations by the time Sherlock's hands settled on his waist and drew him closer. John swallowed Sherlock's moan as he rolled his hips into the detective's.

John's hands left Sherlock's hair to start on the buttons of his shirt. He had only gotten the top two undone when Sherlock's hands stopped his progress. It was only when John pulled back from the kiss did he realize that Sherlock's phone was ringing.

"Case." Sherlock sighed, placing his forehead on John's, their breath coming out in pants.

"So?" John challenged.

Sherlock's mobile stopped ringing, only to start again a second later. "I _really_ should get that."

"No, actually, you _really_ shouldn't" John helped his point by rolling his hips into Sherlock's, pressing their hips together. Sherlock groaned and placed a quick kiss on John's mouth before pulling away to answer his phone. John sighed and leaned on the back of his chair, willing himself to calm down. He didn't notice Sherlock had moved in front of him until he started talking.

"Homicide. It seems like they have the murder in custody but Lestrade has his doubts. Be ready to leave as soon as I change." Sherlock said, already heading to his room after a not so subtle glance at the bulge in John's trousers.

* * *

**FRIDAY 00:18**

As soon as they got to the crime scene, Sherlock was barreling out of the cab, leaving John to pay the cabbie. Once that was sorted, John stepped out of the cab to see Lestrade waiting for him. As he approached the police tape, John spotted an anxious looking woman sitting on the seat of an open police car, getting questioned by Donovan.

John nodded in their direction. "That the suspect?"

Lestrade nodded. "She's the victim's wife. Only one in the house when we got here, neighbors heard the wife screaming. The alarm was set and the doors and windows were all locked from the inside. We had to bust our way inside." He explained as they walked to the house. John nodded as he listened, watching as the woman answered questions, worrying a handkerchief as she did.

Lestrade led John through the house and up a flight of stairs until they reached the master bedroom. Where they found Sherlock leaning over a man who, from what John could guess, was bludgeoned to death. John's hypothesis was validated when he spied a large bloodied pan on the bed beside him.

"Wife says she came home from a late shift and her husband was asleep, still alive. She took a shower," Lestrade gestured to the bathroom to the left, "and came out to find her husband dead."

Sherlock nodded and stepped away from the man on the bed. "John? What do you think?"

John looked up at him. "I suppose you've got it figured out right?" Sherlock nodded. "Then why-"

"I'm curious to see if you've learned anything in the ways of deduction over the years."

John sighed but walked over to the body and looked it over, not getting anything from him. He turned his gaze to the rest of the room. John noticed that there was a glass of water and a pill case on, what he assumed, was the wife's side of the bed. He went into the bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet. Finding what he needed, John grabbed it and made a happy sound as he reentered the bedroom.

"Wife didn't do it. Couldn't've. She has arthritis. Early on-set." He tossed the pill bottle to Lestrade, who caught it and read the label. "That's a pretty strong dosage. She wouldn't have been able to hit her husband hard enough without causing her debilitating pain. She would've still had the pan in her hand if she had done it."

"And you figured this how?" Lestrade asked, placing the pill bottle in an evidence bag.

"I saw her when we were walking up. She was twisting a tissue in her hands. Her movements were stiff and I saw pain as she did so. It was just a hunch." John shrugged and glanced at Sherlock who had a strange expression on his face.

Lestrade turned to the detective. "Sherlock?"

The man in question seemed to need to tear his gaze from John and cleared his throat. "Yup, he's completely right. It was the house keeper. He," Sherlock gestured to the body on the bed, "was having an affair. She would have a spare key and know the code to the alarm, as well as knowing their schedules." Sherlock finished quickly before grabbing John's arm and pulling him from the room and back down the stairs.

"Wait, Sherlock!" Lestrade yelled, following them.

"I've given you more than enough. Even a monk- No, even Anderson could take it from there." Sherlock shouted back, tugging John from the house. John struggled to keep up as he was pulled a few houses over and into an alleyway.

"Sher-" he managed before Sherlock backed him up against a wall and crushed their mouths together.

"That." Sherlock pressed against John, who gasped at the feel of Sherlock's erection against his thigh. "Was. So. Hot." He punctuated each word with a nip down the column of John's neck.

"Sherlock." John gasped as the detective palmed him through his trousers. "Jesus. At least let me know what I did so I can do it again."

"No." he growled, spinning John so his chest was pressed up against the wall. "Later. Want you." John moaned at the alpha pheromones that were surrounding him, causing his body to react automatically. He came back to himself when he heard cars pass by the mouth of the alleyway.

"Sherlock. We can't –ah– do this here. Someone might –mmm– see." John tried as Sherlock began to unbutton his trousers, rubbing John's erection as he did.

"Is that an order, _Captain_?" Sherlock growled.

"No, no. Just a suggestion." John panted.

Sherlock smirked as he kissed the back of John's neck. "Noted." He quickly divested John of his trousers, then he pounced.

* * *

Sherlock carefully turned them and sat on the floor, once they were locked together, with John in his lap as he leaned back onto the wall. John leaned his head back onto Sherlock's shoulder and tried to relax.

"So." John began, quivering at the sensation of being filled. "What did I do that warranted this?"

Sherlock chuckled. "You, John Watson, are brilliant."

"Well, I'll make it a habit to be more brilliant in the future then." John joked. Sherlock hummed as he kissed the spot below John's ear and settled in for the wait.

* * *

_**So if my internet warrants it... I should have the rest of the story up within an hour or so.**_


	3. Bonding

_A/N - So I did edit this quite a bit but it still is a little graphic. If you want to skip over it, it pretty much starts at the four weeks later thing and goes to the endish. If you read the last 5-6 paragraphs you won't miss much._

* * *

A couple weeks after the event in the alley, John found himself in the upstairs bathroom, trying to find his monthly hormone suppressants. Finding nothing after his third search, John left the small room, walked down the short hallway and into his bedroom. He smirked at Sherlock's naked figure lying on his stomach on the bed, taking a lovely view of the man's arse.

John crawled onto the bed until he was lying next to Sherlock. He propped himself up on his hand so he was leaning over him. Although Sherlock had claimed that sleep was tedious, in recent weeks, John had found a fun way to make him tired. But even with John's efforts to make him sleep more, Sherlock only slept a few times a week and John almost felt bad for waking him. Almost.

"Sherlock." John whispered in his ear as he combed his fingers through the thick mass of curls on Sherlock's head. He felt him stiffen under his fingers and John leaned down and peppered kisses on the side of Sherlock's face that wasn't buried in the pillows, laughing as Sherlock turned his head away. "Good morning." He greeted, poking at the black bush of hair.

Sherlock groaned and turned his head to glare with one eye before it slid shut. "That depends on your definition of good." He said, his voice still thick with sleep.

"You can go back to sleep in a second." John grinned as Sherlock grumbled. "Have you seen my suppressants?" he asked, running his fingers through Sherlock's hair again.

Sherlock hummed under his ministrations. "Used then in an experiment."

"Why would you do that? What could possibly warrant using all of my suppressants? You know I need to take them the day after my heat is supposed to end."

"Don't be ridiculous John." Sherlock cracked open his eye to roll it, closing it again as he leaned up into John's hand. "I didn't use _all _of them. I put the extra one in the bathroom downstairs." He drawled tiredly. John pressed a kiss to the top of Sherlock's head in thanks and got up to retrieve it.

* * *

John stared at the foil wrapped package in his hand. Sherlock had told the truth, there was one surviving pill in his bathroom. But he had noticed that the use by date was for a week prior. John stared at the packet, weighing his options.

On one hand, it had been a while since John had experienced a full heat. A _long_ while. But he remembered what it was like to go through a heat alone and he wasn't too keen on the idea. He also knew that Sherlock would want nothing to do with him during his heat. Sherlock had made himself very clear that he had no intentions of having children and without the suppressants, there was no guarantee that John's heat wouldn't result in a pregnancy. A bond bite was also another thing that was likely to happen. If they both weren't in their right minds, especially with the number of times they've had sex, it was possible for Sherlock, with John's consent (it was difficult for a bond to be forced), to issue a bond bite. Although they hadn't talked about it, John was willing to bet that Sherlock wasn't up for the idea.

On the other hand, it _was_ only a week after its use by date. Those things were never accurate. Milk was completely fine a week after its use by date, why wouldn't this be? Besides, it was this or nothing. Being a Sunday, John knew the chemists would be closed. He couldn't wait until tomorrow because his body wouldn't metabolize the suppressant properly and he would have his heat anyway.

Decided, John put the packet into his pocket and walked through the sitting room and into the kitchen.

"You'd be wanting one as well?" he asked as he passed Sherlock, who had not gone back to sleep and was now sitting on the sofa only in his pants using John's laptop. When he didn't get a reply, John sighed and got two mugs from the cupboard. When John took the lid off of the kettle to put water in, he was treated to a large puff of something in his face. John gasped in surprise and he soon found himself in a coughing fit.

"Do I want to know?" John asked when he was able, looking out at the man on the sofa.

"Experiment." Sherlock replied by way of explanation.

"Another one? Exactly how many do you have?"

"Impossible to tell. I'm always starting new ones."

"So which one is this then? What experiment did I just inhale?" John sighed as he started to wash the kettle

"I was studying the growth of a hybrid species of fungus. The kettle was a perfect spot for it to grow, dark and dry."

John paled at Sherlock's words. "Oh god, Sherlock! That better not be toxic!" John coughed, waving at the dust in his face.

"Of course not." Sherlock replied smoothly.

John glanced in Sherlock's direction before sighing and going about to make their tea, coughing every now and again.

* * *

**FOUR WEEKS LATER**

John was lying on his back on his bed naked except for his pants with several towels under his arse. He had felt his heat coming earlier in the week and was too scared to tell Sherlock. John could've laughed at the thought. He could handle getting shot at and having bombs strapped to his chest but telling his partner that his heat was coming because he had taken old suppressants was the thing that had finally gotten him.

John was relieved to find that Sherlock was gone when he woke up that morning. He had spent the few hours before his heat had fully hit to prepare for the next few days. Without an alpha to help him through his heat, John was looking at two to three days of being locked in his room. He had stocked his room with plenty of water (no food, he knew his body wouldn't except it in that state), dug out the dildos he had bought a few days earlier from under his bed, and put tape around his windows and door so his scent didn't attract any alphas in the vicinity.

John was so wrapped up in the beginning stages of his heat that he didn't hear the door close downstairs nor the feet on the stairs going up to his room. He froze when he heard someone trying the doorknob, thankful that he had locked it earlier as well.

"John?" Sherlock asked, there was a small thunk as Sherlock rested his head against the door. John breathed a sigh of relief before a pang of dread cut through his arousal. "John, please let me in." Sherlock tried the door again. John knew that if Sherlock _really_ wanted to, nothing would keep him out of the room. "John, _please_. I can smell you all over the flat. You smell absolutely _delicious_." Sherlock purred through the door and John shivered. "As soon as I walked in I could smell you and I wanted to claim you. I want to make sure no one comes touches you again. I want them to know that you are _mine_."

During Sherlock's speech, John had gotten up on shaky legs and walked to the door. He barely had time to unlock the door and reach for the knob before it swung open and Sherlock came crashing into the room. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John's waist and pulled him close, breathing in his scent at the junction of his neck and his jaw, where his scent was the strongest. John tilted his head to give his better access and tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair as he was pushed backwards towards his bed.

John pulled Sherlock's head from his neck when he felt the back on the backs of his knees and tugged his head close for a bruising kiss. When they parted, John saw that Sherlock's pupils were blown so wide with arousal that his eyes seemed to be pure black surrounded by a thin ring of silver. John's hands trailed down from Sherlock's hair, along his neck, and down to his pectorals. He gave a little push until Sherlock was a few steps away from him and John practically growled when he spoke.

"Off. Now."

Sherlock hurried to comply, tearing off his shirt so roughly that John saw a button or two go flying. John watched until Sherlock was standing in front him in only his trousers before he scrambled onto the bed, taking off his pants as he went. John rolled onto his hands and knees and presented himself to his alpha (when he had started calling Sherlock _his_ alpha John had no idea. But it had a nice ring to it.) as he heard a zipper being tugged down and the thump as fabric hit the floor.

Seconds later, John moaned at the feel of hands caressing his arse. Sherlock climbed onto the bed behind John and rested his erection on the cleft of John's arse. John rolled his hips and heard Sherlock groan at the friction. The detective draped his body over his blogger's, so his chest was pressed into his back, and paused, poised at his entrance.

"Mine." He growled.

"Yours. God, always been yours." John panted. Sherlock growled once more as he pushed roughly into John, not stopping until he was sheathed to the hilt. He waited and gave John time to adjust, who was going to have to remember to praise his self-restraint later, before he began to move.

John gasped as Sherlock began pounding mercilessly into him while stroking in time with his thrusts. John felt Sherlock scrape his teeth across where John's shoulder met his neck, where a bond bite would be placed. Against his better judgment, John automatically exposed his neck in submission. He trusted this man with his life. John knew that Sherlock would do anything and everything he could to protect him.

Sherlock gave the area a lick before he placed his forehead between John's shoulder blades and focused on working them towards release. John screamed his release as Sherlock locked them together and bit down at the junction of John's shoulder and neck, a little to the right of John's scar.

Sherlock carefully removed his teeth and laved at the mark with his tongue. He then pulled John into his lap as he leaned back on his heels and pulled him down onto the bed so they were spooning. He slotted himself behind John perfectly and wrapped an arm around his waist.

John lightly traced shapes on the back of the hand that was resting on his stomach. John was still coming down from his high when he felt the man behind him stiffen.

"Sherlock?" John asked, dread beginning to sit itself heavily in his gut. The arm around his waist moved and John felt tentative fingers probing the new mark on his neck, only to feel them jerk away a second later. He nearly choked out a sob when he felt Sherlock draw as far away from him as he could although they were still attached at the waist. "Sherlock, I'm-"

"Don't."

The blunt tone of Sherlock's voice caused John's stomach to twist and the pair remained silent until Sherlock was able to slip free. Once he could, the detective pulled out of John, rolled off the bed, dressed quickly, and was down the stairs and out the door with a bang.


	4. Walls

The next morning, John wasn't surprised to find that Sherlock was nowhere to be found. With a sigh, he heaved himself from the safe nest he had made around himself, grabbed some pants, and trudged in the direction of his bathroom.

Upon entering, John winced as he caught sight of himself in the mirror. Half of the bond mark could be seen on the front of his trapezius muscle and he poked at it to make sure it was healing correctly. Once he was satisfied, John pulled back the mirror to get at the cabinet behind it. He grabbed one of his recently re-stocked suppressants, popped it out of its packaging, and swallowed it dry.

John would have a bit of stomach cramping for the rest of the day but he will shrug it off as something to do with his heat.

* * *

**FOUR WEEKS LATER**

John looked at his reflection after he had taken a shower and brushed his teeth and found that he was beginning to recognize the person in the mirror. There was still a hint of bags under his eyes and his skin was just a tad too pale but it was an improvement. It had been a rough couple of weeks but things with Sherlock had smoothed over a bit. Things weren't as they were before John's heat but he would rather awkwardness than basically being dead to Sherlock.

John, oddly, had Mycroft to thank for that. After they had bonded, he had been the one to organize the paperwork for them, even going so far as to have it sent to their flat for them to sign. He also the one to make sure John was in the loop whenever Sherlock left him behind to go to a crime scene or, much like today, just left John at the flat to wander the city for hours on end.

John shook his head at the oddness of the situation and opened it mirror cabinet to take his suppressants. He didn't make it five steps from the doorway until he was spinning around and emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet. Afterwards, John sat against the toilet trying to figure out what had caused him to be sick.

Eat something before the pill. He decided. He focused on that conclusion as he went about making himself breakfast, ignoring the thought that was growing in the back of his mind. John waited twenty minutes after his meal of beans on toast and tea before he tried the pill again. And got the same results, only worse the second time.

John rested his head against the lip of the bowl as he pulled out his mobile with a shaky hand and typed a message.

_Hey. You in today? – JW 10:36_

_Yeah. I'm here til five. – 10:37_

_Can I ask a favor? – JW 10:37_

_Of course! What do you need? – 10:38_

_I think this would be better to explain in person… - JW 10:38_

_I'll be there in thirty minutes. – JW 10:38_

_Alright. Everything alright John? – 10:39_

_See you in half an hour. – JW 10:40_

* * *

In half an hour, as promised, John was walking down the halls of St. Barts towards the morgue. Molly, a mousey beta John had come to love, greeted him at the door with a hug.

"John what's going on? Are you alright?" she asked as she pulled away.

John laughed dryly. "I'm not sure about that. I'm not dying, I know that much." John looked down at Molly, her brown eyes reflecting worry back at him.

She gently took his hand and led him to two stools. She sat on one and he followed her lead with the other. "I think you'd better explain now." John nodded slowly before he started explaining what had happened the past few months.

* * *

Molly seemed to be still absorbing everything she had been told once John had finished. He had told her everything up to that morning.

"So you and Sherlock." She said after a couple minutes.

"Yeah, I'm sorry Molly."

"No, no, it's fine, really. You two work so well together and I'm just, well, me." She gave a weak shrug.

"Don't sell yourself short. I'm not sure how we're working these days." He told her firmly, looking at the floor.

"Is that the favor you need? Reconciling with Sherlock?" she asked, brow furrowed.

"No." John gave a weak smile. "Like I said, I had a heat last month because I took an old pill and Sherlock was…present…at the time." Molly nodded along. "When I went to take my suppressants this morning, my body rejected it."

"Did you try eating? After a missed dosage, especially with suppressants, not eating will usually result in, well, in sick."

"Yeah, tried that, had the same results. I've seen this before though and I wanted to take a test to make sure." He saw Molly blanch slightly at his words as she caught on to what he was saying.

"You don't think you're…" she gestured vaguely at his stomach area.

"That's why I'm here. I need a definitive test. I wasn't sure if it was too early for normal pregnancy tests." John was a strange mix of excitement and apprehension, he had no idea what his reaction was going to be, regardless of the outcome.

"Alright." Molly gulped and jumped up from her stool. "So how do you want to do this?"

"I think a blood test would be best." John replied, already rolling up his sleeve. Molly nodded and got to work.

* * *

John was still numb in the taxi back to 221b. He was nearly home and he still had Molly's congratulations ringing in his ears. He remembered being utterly shocked, as he still was, and responding to things Molly was saying, though he didn't have the slightest as to what was being said. His mind was full of questions and he wasn't sure of the answers.

How would Sherlock react? Would he be happy? Angry? Shocked, shocked sounded like something Sherlock would be. Would he accept the baby? He had to. John couldn't imagine Sherlock doing something like that. He would be a little apprehensive but he wouldn't hate the baby, surely.

John looked down at his still flat stomach and placed his hand on it. The action was terribly cliché and he knew it but he couldn't help but feel like he could feel the life growing under his skin. John smiled to himself and leaned his head back. In the end, everything would be perfect. He, the baby and Sherlock would be happy, healthy, and together. He knew it.

* * *

John was sitting on the sofa in 221b, waiting for Sherlock to get back from whatever he gets up to during the day. He ran his hands over his thighs, trying to dry his sweaty palms for the umpteenth time. He checked the clock again, it had been an hour since he got back from meeting with Molly.

In that time John had showered, eaten, inspected his belly, talked to their baby, walked around with his hands over his belly, eaten again, walked some more, told their baby about its parents, and sat. Waiting.

John sighed and pulled out his mobile.

_Where is he? I'm getting worried. – JW 12:02_

_Walking to the door. – MH 12:02_

_Good luck. Text if you require assistance. – MH 12:02_

_And congratulations. You should know there are a few people that are happy for you – MH 12:02_

* * *

John stared at his phone in disbelief, he reread the last sentence several times just to make sure it didn't disappear. John snorted as he put his mobile back in his pocket. Of course Mycroft knew, he knew everything. How would this be any different? John smirked at the thought.

His good mood receded as he heard footsteps coming up the stairs. John stood as the door to the flat opened and Sherlock stepped inside, who sighed when he saw John's stiff form.

"If you must know I was out gaining information from the homeless network-"

"Sherlock."

"-they have information that Lestrade may be getting a case in a few hours and I was simply getting a head start."

"Sherlock." John tried again, a little louder. "We need to talk." He winced at how that sounded. "I need to tell you something."

Sherlock took a step closer and his eyes ran over John. "No." he breathed, eyes widening. "You can't leave! I know it's been-"

"Sherlock, I'm not leaving. I'm not going anywhere if I can help it." He paused, enjoying Sherlock's confused look. He didn't see it very often so he reveled in it now. "Sherlock, I'm pregnant."

John watched as none of the emotions that he had hoped for flashed across his mate's face. Hurt. Anger. Fear.

"But you took the pill." He stammered.

John shook his head. "Technically, no I didn't. It was old. You had used my other pills in an experiment but I found that one. It had only been expired for a week, so I figured it was better than nothing. Turned out it was nothing."

"You're not keeping it, surely." Sherlock said.

John stared at Sherlock with wide eyes and put both of his hands over his stomach, as if to shield their baby from the words. "What?" Sherlock had phrased it like a question but it didn't sound like it.

"You can't keep this fetus." He gestured at John covered stomach. "Our lifestyle has no room for a _child_." He said the word as if it had committed some grievous offence against him.

"We could make it work." John tried.

Sherlock gave him the you're-being-dull-on-purpose-aren't-you look and rolled his eyes. "How? You stay home with the fetus while I go out and run around? What would happen to you, John, if I get killed as I do so? Would you be able to live with yourself?"

John stared at Sherlock, unable to process what he was hearing. "You can't ask me to choose between our baby and you." He begged.

"I am. The fetus or me."

"Don't call it a fetus. It's a baby. _Our_ baby." John took a step towards Sherlock, reaching out. Sherlock recoiled away from the hand.

"Do you want me to make you an appointment to terminate the fetus or should I get you some boxes?"

John continued to stare at Sherlock, his jaw hanging. It wasn't until Sherlock cleared his throat, obviously wanting an answer, that John started to laugh.

"You can't be serious, Sherlock!" he laughed. "Oh my god, you're serious." John sobered quickly. "You are honestly telling me to choose between our baby and you. You are telling me to _kill_ our child, and if I don't I lose you." John sat down on the couch, still in shock. He looked up at the unapologetic eyes of his mate. "The man I love or the thing I am growing to love."

"Will you stop stating the same thing repeatedly? It's annoying."

"No Sherlock. I won't. You have to see why this would give me some pause." John said, rubbing his stomach.

"No, I don't John. I don't understand it at all." Sherlock replied.

"God, will you stop being such a _freak_ and think like a normal person for once?" John shouted, regretting the words as soon as they passed his lips. He felt bile rise in his throat as he watched Sherlock stiffen, close his eyes, and draw himself away from John, physically and emotionally. The man that stood in front of John now was the man he met years ago. He was a man with hundreds of walls to keep people out, to keep them from hurting him. The man in front of John was a stranger.

"You are the only person that hasn't said that to me." Sherlock said, his voice raw with emotion before the last wall slid into place. Sherlock opened his eyes and John physically recoiled from the icy nature that emanated from them. John tried to get his voice to form an apology but the words were stuck in his throat. "You won't choose? Fine. Get out. You have three hours to get everything out of here. I'll torch whatever's left." Sherlock spat before he turned on his heel and walked out the way he came in, slamming doors as he went.

John sat on the sofa, staring at the door, numb for the second time that day, for several minutes. He only realized he was shaking when he took his mobile from his pocket and tried to use it with shaking fingers.

**Contacts v**

**Select: **Greg, Molly, Mycroft.

**Compose Message.**

_I need your help at the flat. I just fucked up. I need to protect my baby. – JW 12:23 _


	5. Gone

Sherlock slammed the door behind him and stalked off down the sidewalk, ignoring his instincts telling him to turn back and comfort his mate. The damn bond was doing this. The bond between mates was a one way street so the omega can keep their alpha waiting on hand and foot. He let out a low growl as he pushed through the light afternoon traffic, which wasn't very difficult seeing as no one wished to get in the way of an angry alpha.

Sherlock slowed and stuck out an arm, sliding into the cab that pulled up alongside him. "St. Bart's hospital." He ground out and sat stiffly in his seat until the cab pulled up outside of the tall building. He threw some notes at the cabbie and pushed through the doors, heading toward the morgue.

When he arrived, he wasn't surprised that Molly wasn't anywhere to be found. One look around told him that he had missed her by only a few minutes, so John had contacted her and she had gone to his aid. It also told him that John had been by, it was quite clear for John's jacket was hanging by the door. John had gone to Molly for his pregnancy test then; he must have been in quite a daze to have forgotten his favorite jacket, the black one with the leather on the shoulders and elbows.

Sherlock shrugged out of his jacket, he hadn't the time to grab his large overcoat nor his scarf in his haste to leave the flat, and got to work examining various toxins and such to keep his mind busy.

He had hardly been at work for two hours when the door to the morgue slammed open, hitting the wall with a loud thump. The sudden noise caused Sherlock to startle slightly despite himself. He looked up from the microscope, rubbing under his eye from where he hit the lens, and into the angry face of Detective Inspector Lestrade.

"Ah, Lestrade." Sherlock greeted in an even tone. "You have a case for me?"

"What the _hell_ are you doing?" Lestrade shouted, surging toward Sherlock. The detective bristled at another alpha coming towards him, tensing for a fight.

"What-"

"Don't give me that. I get this vague text from John a couple of hours ago and when I get to the flat I find that John is pregnant, Mrs. Hudson is working on consoling him, and you're nowhere to be found!" he jabbed at Sherlock's chest with an angry finger. "We could hardly get him to calm down enough to tell us what happened. And Sherlock, after hearing what he said, you better have a good reason as to why you're here acting like nothing the matter." Lestrade worked to calm himself as Sherlock took a step away from the man.

"Since you have heard what happened, you must see why I am not-"

"Don't you dare finish that."

"But you said-"

Lestrade glared up at him. "Yeah, I know what I said and what you were about to say was utter _bullshit._ Let me tell you what I gathered from what John told us." Lestrade began listing off with his fingers. "You started the relationship, you used all of his heat blockers-"

"I did leave one." Sherlock interjected, standing a bit taller.

Lestrade glared at him as he continued. "You left an _expired_ heat blocker, you bit him during his heat-"

"It has to be entirely consensual. That isn't entirely my fault." Sherlock interrupted once more, lifting his chin as he gathered as much pride as he could.

"Yes it does." Lestrade agreed. "But don't forget, I'm an alpha as well, Sherlock. I know that you can still choose. I also know that you _never_ do anything you don't want to, no matter how much someone begs." Sherlock slumped a bit, knowing that it was true. An alpha could fight his instinct, he just had to want to. Lestrade picked up where he left off when he saw Sherlock wasn't going to reply. "You tell him to get an abortion, and finally, you kick him out of the flat." He visibly deflated as he finished his speech.

"For that last one…" Sherlock trailed off, looking at his shoes, feeling a bit guilty after all the facts were thrown at him.

"Yeah, he could hardly get that bit out." A warm hand came down on Sherlock's shoulder and Lestrade's voice was softer as he spoke. "He feels awful about what he said. But Sherlock." The detective looked up. "You have to see where John was coming from. His own alpha was rejecting their child. Anyone would've done that."

Sherlock's eyes hardened and he stepped out from under Lestrade's hand, turning to face the wall. "Not John. Not my John."

"He wasn't John right then. He was a pregnant omega."

Sherlock stared at the wall as everything came together. What Lestrade said did make sense, and Sherlock had studied omega's reactions to different things in different situations. Even he had to admit John was just in his reaction.

"You can try to work it out with him. Mycroft has people helping him pack everything, but you may still be able to catch them before they finish." Lestrade said from behind him.

Sherlock stood there for a second longer before he turned toward the door. "I have to go." He muttered as he shoved through the doors. Lestrade smiled after him and gathered both Sherlock and John's jackets before he left as well.

* * *

Traffic was hellish and it took him double the normal amount of time to get back to the flat. It took even longer when Sherlock realized he didn't have his wallet, which was in his jacket, and he had to assure the angry cabbie that he would be right out to pay him. His heart sank as he bounded up the steps to 221B, noting the lack of boxes and such. It fell to his feet when he opened the door to the flat and only saw his brother standing in the middle of the living room.

"They're gone, Sherlock." Mycroft said coldly even as he wore a slightly apologetic look on his face. "They will stay gone until John says so." Sherlock didn't even have a chance to reply before his brother sailed past him and he was alone.


	6. Miracles

_A/N - So...the last chapter..._

_Lemme just say I cried while I was writing this and I sincerely hope you have the same response (just because I'm evil like that...) I'd tried my best with this and I hope you enjoy it! Also, if you have seen The Normal Heart with Mark Ruffalo and Matt Bomer and Julia Roberts and all those beautiful people than you'll recognize a scene from the movie in here..._

_Disclaimer - I do not own Sherlock or The Normal Heart_

_I'm so sorry..._

* * *

Brought back to the present, Sherlock looked back down at the omega lying on the bed. His omega. "So I'm dead again?" he heard himself saying.

John laughed weakly, wincing slightly as he did so. "Right, sorry about that. It was the easiest way to explain my situation to people. An bonded omega with a child and no alpha isn't exactly endorsed."

Sherlock hadn't heard what John had said, he was too busy worrying about his reaction to laughing. "What's wrong? Are you in pain? Of course you're in pain, you're being treated for cancer. I'll go get a nurse." Sherlock started to get up.

"No, no, I'm fine. He's just only gone to sleep." Sherlock stopped at the words and looked back down at John. The man had uncurled slightly and Sherlock could see a head of wild brown curls nestled next to John's breastbone. Sherlock wondered how he hadn't seen them, they were as untamed as his own at times. Sherlock froze at the thought. John moved further and Sherlock's breath caught in his throat.

Beneath the curls –which was a blend of Sherlock and John's hair colors to create a warm, comforting brown color- , Sherlock saw a sleeping face that was a perfect mix of him and John. His gaze swept hungrily over the child's features. He had cheekbones like Sherlock's but not as dramatic and his cupid's bow lip. A nose identical to John's was mushed up against the man's thinned chest.

"He has the bluest eyes you've ever seen." John whispered. Sherlock looked up to see John looking down at the boy in his arms, love being the only emotion shining from his face.

"John…" Sherlock sighed, sitting back in his chair.

"Scott William Holmes." John said with a smile. "Did I get the order right?" Sherlock shook his head. "Well you did only tell me once. But you did say 'In case you're looking for baby names' so I used them." Sherlock cringed as he remembered that night. It was a couple weeks after he had some back and they had gotten into a fight over John's commitment to Sherlock and the work with him getting married. Sherlock had shouted his full name at him out of spite, knowing that the couple would never have children naturally. John hadn't spoken to him for a week afterwards.

"I suppose he can change it if he hates it." Sherlock shrugged. "I think it's perfect."

John smiled up at him before looking back down at their son. "I had him early. _Way_ too early. I was six months gone when I went into labor." John said after a moment and Sherlock felt a twist in his gut. Separation from the alpha has negative effects on the omega's pregnancy. Although it was different for each individual, premature labor was common. "I think I was lucky. I could have lost him." John curled back around Scott as he said this. "He is so smart, Sherlock. He is a little slow understanding things, but once he gets there. You should see him. He never forgets anything. He was a right terror once he could walk and talk." He chuckled at the memory. The laugh suddenly became a coughing fit which startled Scott awake.

"Dad?" The boy asked, sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. John gestured at his throat and Scott turned to get a cup of water off of the table beside the bed. He brought the end of the straw to John's lips as the coughing subsided a bit and John drank slowly. "Small sips." Scott instructed and Sherlock saw John's eyes roll. Once he could, John finished drinking and turned Scott to face Sherlock.

"Scott, this is my friend Sherlock." John said, his voice sounding raw.

"Hello Sherlock." Scott said, sounding far older than his age.

"Nice to meet you, Scott." Sherlock replied, smiling. "How old are you, five?"

"Nearly six." He said proudly.

"Well last time I saw your father, you were about this big." Sherlock held his thumb and forefinger about a centimeter apart as his gut gave another twist.

Scott gave him a look that said 'I'm not stupid' and opened his mouth to reply when John cut in. "Scott, why don't you go see Carol about getting some dinner, hm? It's just past seven so the kitchen should still be open." Scott gave a little shrug and clambered off of the bed and out of the door.

"He's beautiful, John." Sherlock murmured when they were alone.

John hummed as he settled back against the bed. "He's been such a trooper, through all this." He gestured to the room around them. "I have stage three tracheal cancer. Well, that's where it started, anyway. They caught it when it was still stage one and they've been fighting it since then." John turned his head to look at Sherlock. "I had Mycroft contact you because- How did he get you here, anyway?" John asked suddenly.

Sherlock cleared his throat, suddenly finding it too dry to speak. "Case."

"Yeah, and quite a good one too. At least an eight." John joked.

"Ten." Sherlock corrected.

John smiled sadly before he spoke again. "Well, I had him contact you because I don't know how everything's going to work out, in the end. And I want someone here to explain everything to Scott. You don't have to. It was just a thought. Really, I'd be fine if you didn't. I'd understand-"

"John." Sherlock interrupted, laying his hand ever John's, silencing the man. "I'd love to."

John's answering smile was the biggest Sherlock had ever seen.

In the five weeks since Sherlock had learned of John's illness, he had made the effort to visit the both of them daily. Even when he grew bored out of his mind, Sherlock would bring old case files or play games with Scott. Though it was more often the latter as John watched with a sad smile. John had deteriorated further as Sherlock watched and soon the cancer had progressed to stage four. In lighter news Scott had turned six and (to Sherlock's surprise) Lestrade, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and even _Mycroft_ had come for the small celebration.

But now they were gathered for a different reason.

Sherlock sat in a chair that was pushed as close to John's bed as they could manage while John lay beside him, the guardrails removed so they could be as close as possible. Mycroft stood on the opposite side of John's bed, near the end so they could both face them comfortably. Molly, Lestrade, and Mrs. Hudson all stood at the end of the bed, they were joined by a few nurses that John had grown close to. Scott stood in front of the small group, fiddling with the cuffs of the tuxedo they had forced him to wear.

"Are you sure." Mycroft asked the two men in front of him. John gripped Sherlock's hands that were laced with his own a little tighter as they both nodded. Mycroft nodded in return and opened the small book in his hands, the silver bond ring on his right hand as well as his wedding ring on his left glinting in the fluorescent lighting, a matching set to the ones on Greg's hands. Mycroft turned and addressed the people gathered at the other end of the room.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today…"

* * *

"Scott, go with your uncles. Pa needs to talk with dad for a minute." Sherlock said, not looking up from the ground. The boy looked up at him for a moment before trudging off to where Mycroft and Lestrade stood. John had been right. Although he was a little slow on what they were trying to tell him, as soon as Scott understood that Sherlock was his father and wasn't going anywhere anytime soon, he had no problems immediately asking what he should call him because John was already dad in his eyes.

"I don't quite know what to say." Sherlock sighed after a moment of silence, still staring down at his shoes. "No, wait, sorry. I do know what I want to say. What I need to say. What I should've said all that time ago when I ran and should've stayed." Sherlock straightened, smiling weakly. "Oh my god! You're pregnant! You're pregnant and I love you." Sherlock said in a cheerful voice that sounded strained even to him. "I am so sorry that I told you to get rid of him. He's perfect, John. You really did a great job with him. And you know, I think he'll be fine, in the long run.

"You were so good with him. I'm getting better but for something like this," Sherlock caressed the top of the grey tombstone in front of him which read 'John Hamish Watson-Holmes'. "He needs you." Sherlock's face crumped a bit before he got it under control. "I'm so sorry for everything, John. For all the hurt that I've caused you. Right up to the beginning when I should've offered a chair when I saw the cane. I'm sorry for not being there during the pregnancy and after. I'm sorry for being the thing that put you here. But John, I have one thing to ask of you. I don't deserve it but think of it as something for Scott. It is the same thing you asked of me so think of it as repayment or a get equal thing or whatever. Stop all of this." He grimaced as he gestured to the fresh soil he was standing on. "For Scott, for me, for even bloody Mycroft, just give me a miracle. You asked me for the same. One more miracle.

"'One more?' you say? Yes, John. You have given me more than one miracle in the time you've known me." Sherlock began pacing in front of the grave, the site was lying beside the empty plot that he was "buried" in. "Well let's see. Where to start. You've loved me, forgiven me, befriended me, put up with me, lived with me, bonded with me, given me a child, and John, you have _humanized_ me." Sherlock turned to face the grave once more as his tears began to fall. "You have ruined me John. There was once a time where I could've turned away from something like this without a sniffle. Now I feel as if I can't function properly anymore and it hurts, John. So much. Is this how it felt for you as well? Then that gives me another thing to apologize for, making you feel like this." He gestured towards his face. "So please, John. My John." Sherlock kneeled in front of the grave, resting his head on the edge of the cool surface, wishing it were warm and pliant beneath his forehead. "Just give me this; don't be dead." Sherlock repeated the words John had said to him in a vain attempt that it would have the same effect.

He looked over in the direction he had stood as John had spoken to his grave, a sob wracking its way through his at the sight of nothing under the tree limbs. Sherlock ran his right hand over the smooth marble once more, the silver rings shining on his ring and middle fingers in the late afternoon light, a mirror image to the gold rings on his left. John would have laughed at the sight of Sherlock wearing so much jewelry, and that his rings only fit on Sherlock's fattest finger. Sherlock stood abruptly, swiped under his eyes, and gave one last parting look at the tombstone before he turned to join his family.

The end.


End file.
